


Deano a Deano

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dean Hates Witches, DeancestDecember, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Dean, Female Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Impala Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sastiel - Freeform, Self-Denial, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Love, Self-cest, Sick Dean, Siren Dean, Sirens, Spoilers, Witch Curses, deancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapters:<br/>Nostalgia (Smith/Winchester)<br/>Friction (Dean alone in the Impala)<br/>Sirens (Dean Winchester/Siren Female Dean)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> Unrelated Deancest ficlets. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Smith and Dean Winchester have a good thing going.

Dean stretched his arms high above his head, and then collapsed into laughter.

Smith smirked at him. "What? You got something to say, Winchester?"

Dean smacked him on the backside with a sharp, stinging slap. "Not a thing, buddy."

The man in the khakis glowered at him as well as he could. In fact, he was quite pleased with Dean's reaction as he came around the corner into the bedroom. He loved making the man laugh. He knew how rare it had been before Smith had come into his life for Dean to laugh like that. It was a private mission of his to extract a full-body laugh from the man at least once a day.

"Well, don't you worry, Deano. Jo made one for you too. And no regifting it to Sam."

Dean took the red and green crocheted disaster from Smith's hand with something resembling reverence. "Never. Sam's hair would never fit in it anyway." He began to laugh again, and Smith thrilled with it. Dean clutched at the cap lovingly. "Heard anything from Wesson lately?"

"He's on the road. I invited him for the holidays, of course. But he says the job comes first."

Dean lifted his coffee to his smiling lips. "Good kid. Hope he bags himself a bad Santa. Coffee's perfect," he added softly. "Guess you know that."

"Always nice to hear." It was especially nice to hear when he knew Dean's tendency in years past was to start, spend and end every day with alcohol. Other than the egg nog at the party the other night, he had not actually seen Dean drink for weeks. The best part was that he did not seem to miss it at all. Smith took pride in that. "And your Sam?"

The man played with the cap absently, as though he was not exactly sure how it worked. And considering the craftsmanship his sister possessed, Smith would not be surprised if it didn't. "He's good. He and Cas want to drop by over the weekend. Maybe Sunday for football. Sam and me can watch the game and you and Cas can...whatever you do."

Smith grinned. "Good! I want his opinion on something I'm working on."

Dean put his cap and coffee onto the dresser, and wiped his hands on his jeans. Then he reached up to adjust the goofy hat on his lover's head. "I like that you like Cas," he said softly.

The touch was subtle, but Smith liked that. Other than an occasional leaping bear hug when he returned from a hunt, Dean was mostly a gentle man. It was so strange knowing what he did when he disappeared for days at a time. The proof of his occupation was in the blood stains Smith fought with on every laundry day.

"Of course I like Cas. Is there anyone who doesn't like Cas?"

"I think he weirded Wesson out when they met that time."

"And I think that's mainly because Castiel mistook him for Sam while drunk and tried to kiss him."

"That might be it."

"It isn't Wes's fault he's the only straight guy in the family."

Dean snickered. He always found it funny when Smith called them family. "I don't know what you mean. I'm straight as a-"

"Circle," Smith finished for him wryly.

"Wes is in love with your sister. That weirds me out far more than my brother hanging with an angel."

"I think it weirds her out too," he confirmed. "It's okay. He's scared of my mom."

"Ellen is intimidating," Dean acknowledged. "Seriously though. I like that you like Cas."

"Seriously," Smith repeated. "Cas is a good guy. Got his wings clipped for you and your brother. That's a friend if I ever heard of one."

Suddenly, Dean grabbed Smith's hands and looked down at them with intensity. He sucked in his breath sharply.

"Deano? Dean?" Smith licked his lips carefully. "Dean, come on. Talk to me."

The other man shook his head, but the pain in the face they shared was evident. It took a moment for him to breathe normally again.

Smith lead him to the bed and sat him down. He squeezed the strong hands, and watched the identical green eyes until the moment had passed. Relief splashed his lover's face, and their eyes met finally.

"A little better?"

Dean nodded stiffly. "Better. I'm sorry."

A hand reached up to touch his face. "Deano, please stop apologizing. Okay? It...Dean, it isn't your fault. Here. Lie down."

"I don't want to."

Smith sighed, pulling off his cap. "Now you're just being obstinate. Lie down."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Lie down or I'll pray for Castiel to make you lie down."

"You wouldn't."

"I told you. I want to show him my latest project. Might as well be right after he knocks your ass out cold."

"Screw you, Smith." But he was smart enough to know his lover did not bluff.

"Maybe after you've rested, Winchester." He patted the man on the arm gently, and headed out of the room without another word.

He closed the door behind him softly, and leaned against it. With an aching heart, he pulled out his phone, and placed a call.

"Smithy?"

"Hey, Sam."

"What's wrong? Is he...is he getting worse?"

Smith closed his eyes tightly against the words. "I think so. He says he's fine."

"That's usually a good sign he isn't."

"Sam? Have you found anything that can fix it? Sometimes it's just a quick fit, lasts just a few seconds. But last night, he was in pain for hours. Wouldn't let me near him. He couldn't drive-that's the only reason he didn't leave. Just sat in the Impala outside and..."

"I know, Smithy."

"Sam? Have you ever seen him cry? It's the most excruciating thing I've ever...ever..." Tears were streaming down his own face now. "I can't stand it any more, Sam. Last night was the worst I've seen him."

Sam sighed heavily. "I don't know what we can do if we can't find the witch that did it."

"Wesson is tracking her?"

"Yeah. I've gotten updates from him, but...nothing I can move on yet."

Smith swallowed hard. "It's my fault, the fit he just had. I wasn't thinking. I brought up Castiel's fall."

"It's impossible to know what's going to trigger it, Smithy. You can't blame yourself."

"Last night, he was telling me about..." He gasped in a sob. "About you and him sharing a Christmas together, in a motel somewhere, years back, after a hunt. He was so happy thinking about it."

Sam was quiet for a moment. Smith waited. "He can't afford to get nostalgic like that, Smithy. Every time he trips that wire, every time he brushes up against a memory she doesn't want him to have...it gets closer to killing him."

"I know." Smith cleared his throat softly. "You think Wes will have something for you to go on?"

"He's a natural tracker, Smithy. The best I've ever met. The minute he finds something, Castiel will get me there, and I'll end the bitch. Until then, don't let him scratch the wall."

Smith frowned. "What wall? What does that mean?"

Sam gave a humorless laugh. "Advice I was given once. Just...don't let him try to remember anything. Keep him focused on now."

He nodded, running a hand through his manicured hair. "I can do that. Call me if there is any news."

"I will, Smithy. I'm glad you're there for him."

Dean Smith took a shuddered breath and let it out slowly. He replaced his phone and turned back to the door with determination. He might not be a natural Hunter like Wes. He had been the first to acknowledge that he couldn't hack the life, didn't even want to. But there was no one who had a stronger will than Dean Smith. He had clawed his way up the ranks at a Fortune 500, then after his experience with Samuel Wesson, he had quit to create his own non-profit agency, and had become a sensation with its success as a seed organization for other charities and grassroots community projects. He had never approached any task with less than everything he had in him. He might not be able to track this witch who had cursed Dean Winchester, but if it killed him, he would deliver the man safely to the other side of it. Sam had given him simple instructions. Keep Dean focused on now. He had a job to do, and he would be damned if he didn't plan to do it with all his heart.


	2. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean alone in his Impala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a completely new scenario unless otherwise stated. Therefore, don't expect this to be a continuation of the last chapter, please.

Sam had been in this position a hundred times. Waiting outside a skeevy motel while Dean enjoyed some company. And Dean would be the first to say his little brother needed to get laid. He just hated sleeping in the car knowing he wasn't getting any himself.

The Impala's backseat was large enough, of course. Hell, he had managed to have sex on it multiple times. But when it came to actual sleep, there was much left wanting.

Dean tried to run the day's events over in his head, analyzing the hunt from every angle. But he couldn't focus. He was too uncomfortable. He turned onto his other side. No better. God, how did Sammy even fit back here?

He should just go get another room.

Twenty minutes later, he was still tossing and turning on the backseat. Four hours. Was that too much to ask? And what was Sam even doing? Cuddling? The guy could at least kick the chick out after, and let Dean come in for some sleep.

It was a half hour after that when Dean finally admitted to himself that part of his problem was that he badly needed to get off. Good for Sam, finding a nice girl to take home, good for him, the bitch, but Dean was aching painfully.

Without meaning to, he arched his hips into the seat, pressing his bulge mercifully. His jeans were suddenly uncomfortable, and he wanted badly to pull them off. Not in the parking lot. And he'd be damned if he were going to creep into a filthy restroom somewhere. No. It would pass. He just had to fall asleep.

Ten more minutes passed agonizingly slowly, and his hand reached down to adjust. It was a pitiful ploy by his desperate brain, and once his hand was there, he had no will left. He stroked slowly through his jeans, feeling a hard burning from the merciful friction. It gave relief at the same time as it entangled him further in this heat.

His hand was under his coat, which draped over him like a blanket, trying to ease a bit of tension, when a giddy knock came at the window. His eyes shot open to find his brother smiling like an idiot through the glass.

"Dammit, Sammy!" he roared, trying to untangle himself awkwardly. "You're such a freaking bitch."

The younger man grinned happily. "Whatever. Getting you back for years of you pounding on the window at two in the morning when I'd just gotten to sleep."

Dean scowled, and placed his coat around his waist strategically, then finally opened the door. "Move. I need a shower."

Sam winked at him. The kid was impossible when he was getting tail. "I already took mine. With Shelia. I'm going to go sleep off a very nice workout."

The man grit his teeth. "No details, jackass. And there better be hot water left."

Sam simply smirked to himself, and began quietly singing AC/DC completely out of tune.


	3. Sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has found himself a special type of Siren. This manipulative Asian beauty is deadly, but Castiel knows Dean has to fight this battle all on his own, to avoid one of two fates: being drained of energy until death or becoming a siren himself. Fortunately, the angel can get into Dean's head when he needs to.
> 
>  
> 
> FYI  
> Ajisai: Japanese Hydrangea  
> Hanami: Japanese art of flower appreciation  
> Sakura: Cherry blossom  
> Ume: Plum blossom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just full disclosure:  
> The nature of sirens means that there is some manipulation resulting in sexual situations. In other words, it's hard to say it's consensual when someone is messing with your brain. I'm not going to tag it, but I wanted to warn for this chapter.

If Sam had read the small, hand-bound book made of washi in Bobby’s collection, the one marked _Hanami_ , which included an intricate sakura illustration on its front, he might have known that Japanese sirens were different. Of course, Sam did not read Japanese, so the book had been diverted to the Asian section of the Men of Letters’ collections to await translation, probably by some future resident. Bobby could have translated it himself, but had not needed to. So when the Ajisai infected Dean, all they could determine for sure was that it was some type of siren. This Ajisai-not that Sam knew the word-was even more powerful than the bitch they had encountered once before, and that one had nearly succeeded in pushing the men into fratricide.

It was Castiel who figured out what the thing was, but not until Dean had already fallen victim to it. It was horrible listening to him screaming, especially since it was so soon after curing the demon in him. Castiel had hoped that the Mark would somehow protect him from this, but it soon became obvious that he was just as susceptible as any human.

“So, I don’t understand. How is this any different from any other siren?”

Castiel took a breath. “An Ajisai is a siren first found in Japan, and so named for an appealing Japanese flower. The flowers have been brought to America, and evidently so have the sirens.”

“But what about them is different? I mean, shouldn’t he have recovered as soon as I separated him from the thing?”

“It is…more complicated than that. He will continue to try to find her.”

Sam looked exhausted. He dropped into a chair at the table, and grunted softly. “But how long?”

“Until he finds her.”

The hazel eyes searched blue for a moment, then Sam licked his lips. “Okay. So…forever?”

His gravely voice was quiet, almost sad. “It seems that way. If we keep him from her, he will not be able to function.” He lowered himself to perch on the edge of the table, looking worriedly into Sam’s face. “I’m sorry, Sam. If I had recognized what it was sooner…”

“You didn’t know. And it’ll all be over when I kill her, right?”

Castiel sighed again. “Sam, Dean is not simply seeking the siren. He is becoming one himself.”

Horror splashed across Sam’s face. He shot up from his chair and stared down at his friend, throwing his hands in the air. “Becoming? Why didn’t you say this before? What, like a vampire can turn people? Sirens can do that?” 

“This one can. And I didn’t say anything before because I was not certain until now. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Is there a way to cure him? Kill the sire, like with a vamp? Find an alpha, what? Cas, there has to be something!”

Castiel watched his human friend coming undone by this new information, and he regretted it deeply. It seemed they were doomed to save one another again and again. They could never be sure from one week to the next if each of the three of them would be himself, or an alternative version of himself entirely. Sam had been possessed by demons and angels, had lost his soul, and had even had the nasty experience of exchanging bodies with a teenager, if Dean’s drunken stories could be believed. Castiel had been a full angel and a human, and everything in between, once nearly a god. Dean himself had been turned to a vampire, a demon, and now would be an Ajisai by the end of the night. They had each died more times than would be prudent to count, and had each visited Heaven, Hell and Purgatory. Was it unreasonable to hope that one day they could all just be themselves, tucked in a warded bunker, with their own personalities and be at peace?

The angel felt his feathers rustle in annoyance, even beyond the perception of Sam’s human eyes. Of course it was unreasonable, he decided, because these two stupid humans always went looking for trouble. They would never be content to just be, not when there was evil out there waiting to chew them up.

“Cas?” Sam said in desperation.

He smiled tightly. “Yes, Sam. We can help him. But you will not like how.”

“Do I ever like how we have to do anything?”

Castiel was fairly certain he was not expected to respond to that question, so he ignored it. “We must bring the siren to him.”

“What? I’m not letting that bitch anywhere near-“

“You’d rather he clawed his way through the wall to get to her? Because he will. She has likely forgotten all about him by now, having fed from his energy and moved on, but he will be consumed by his need for her until he finds her or kills himself trying.”

“Can’t just kill her?”

“I’m afraid that would not help Dean. In fact, I believe it would kill him. If she will not release him, it must be he who destroys her, with his own blood.”

Sam looked defeated. He shook his head, staring down his long legs to the bunker’s polished floor. “Okay. So we get her here,” he sighed softly. “I don’t know how we’ll even do that, how we’ll find her and how we’ll keep her from affecting me too, but say we do. Then what? A spell? Torture? Ask nicely?”

Castiel’s head tilted slightly. “In that order?”

“What? No! I’m saying…” Sam pinched at the bridge of his nose as though he were getting a headache. “What’s the play, Cas? If we get her here, what will that accomplish? What do I have to do to save my brother’s ass this time? What’s it going to cost me that he hooked up with the very thing in that town that we were there to hunt?”

“You’re angry with him.”

“Of course not,” he groaned unconvincingly. “I just wish…He never thinks, you know? The guy is smart. He really is. He dropped out of school to hunt, never paid attention even when he was in school. But as much as I give him a hard time, he’s never been stupid. He’s brilliant. But he never thinks! He just…reacts! With everything! The guy can strategize, plan a hunt or a raid down to the last detail, like that time he took out Eve? Then another day, he just…It’s like he hasn’t learned yet, in three decades…”

His friend waited patiently for him to gather his own thoughts. Castiel was unsure exactly what Sam was complaining about. Dean was impulsive at times, certainly. But Sam was indicating that Dean was also careless, which was untrue, even unfair. When Castiel spoke, it was with a quiet voice, which he hoped conveyed his love and respect for each brother appropriately. “Sam, you are correct, in that your brother is not stupid. He thinks differently. You think in words, Sam. Your brother never has.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I hope you will not be surprised to know that I have at one time or another been able to sense the thoughts of both you and your brother.”

Sam squirmed uncomfortably, scratching at his neck. “Okay.”

“You think in words, at least most of the time. You process everything you see and do, everything each of your senses experiences, into language. Your eyes are immediately drawn to words, like road signs, or the caption of an image. Your brother thinks differently. He will always process the scene or the image first. It’s a subtle difference, but it changes how you look at everything. While you always seem to be struggling to find the right words to say aloud or how your hands are signaling to others, your brother is far more concerned with how he is standing, acting, reacting. He can plan movements, plan for motivations and reactions. He will seem to be ready for anything, because it is all physical, can be anticipated. On the other hand, the discipline he requires and the energy he expends in order to force himself to spend hours on research is extreme. He does it because he has to, but you’ll notice when he does research, he will always identify information by images first, creating patterns before actually processing the words the way you do automatically.”

The taller man’s nostrils flared as he frowned, and Castiel wondered if he had somehow angered him. But he was silent.

“You and Dean think very differently. It is not that he doesn’t think, Sam. When the two of you step into a bar, you are at work translating language, processing small details. Your brother will have an instant panoramic view of everything in sight, and will be busy calculating how he physically compares to every movement around him, the distance between him and every other person, and so forth. It isn’t conscious any more than your tendency to read every word in your vicinity, and listen to every voice. Dean hears the voice, but he is watching the mouth moving and the tone of it more than the words that are spoken. Your interactions with individuals is different as well. Dean’s vision narrows until he is completely focused on one person’s body, movement, expressions and voice. You will watch someone from the corner of your eye while still perceiving language and identifying objects elsewhere, and you will analyze what they say to the letter. Much of it comes down to perception of movement and physicality, instead of words, symbols and objects.”

Sam was nodding slowly. “I never really thought about it. You think about people being smart and not smart. Not that their brains work differently.”

“Dean likely did not recognize this woman as a threat until it was too late, because she was calculated in the way she moved and engaged him. You may have noticed something about her right away. Or you might have been deceived just as easily. We don’t know.” Castiel stood again. “But we do know how to help him. I will locate the siren and bring her here. She will not be a threat to me, and we will waste no time in travel.”

At last, he had evoked a smile from his friend. “That must be nice.”

“It is,” he confirmed, and continued. “Once she is here, it will mostly be up to Dean. We will keep her from escaping him, but it will be he who confronts her. She will not be able to hurt him any more than she already has.”

“So what do I do?”

“You have work to do. Dean was not the only person she’s infected in that town.”

Realization flooded Sam’s face. “Oh god. That bartender.”

Castiel nodded. “He will be on his way to her, drawn to her location as the needle of a compass. And she infected him over a week ago. There will be no hope of saving him now. You must destroy him before he infects others, which he will surely do once he has attempted to tear your brother to pieces.”

“He’ll be coming for Dean?”

“He will see the Ajisai as his mate and maker, and yes. He will fight Dean to the death for her attention. You will need to be ready for him, and you will need to kill him before he can get to the bunker. It may take him all night to do so, but once he does, he will stop at nothing to get to her and kill Dean.”

“What will kill him?”

He shrugged. “I’m going to get the Ajisai. If Dean can destroy it, the other should fall as well. If not…you will need to be ready.”

Sam’s eyes darkened as he smiled. “If nothing else…wood chipper trumps everything,” he snarled.

Castiel stared at him a moment. “I…suppose it does.” His eyes narrowed, and he decided against asking Sam if he had found a wood chipper in the bunker. “I will be swift as I can in locating her and returning her here. The moment I do so, the clock will begin on that bartender finding his way to her, and to Dean. You have until he does to learn how to kill him. In the meantime, I will keep her from escaping Dean.”

“You’re sure she can’t hurt him? What if she’s armed?”

“Then I will disarm her,” Castiel promised simply. “Dean will be able to handle her.” With that, he hurried from the bunker and blinked away to a town two hours south.

***

Dean was hoarse from screaming, but he continued to beat his hand into the stone wall. The texture of it had ripped his skin long ago; he ignored the inconvenience. He felt like he would tear himself out of his skin anyway if he were not released soon.

 _What right_?

The phrase kept flashing through his mind, and for a long while, he was unsure what his brain even meant by it. Now that the involuntary shrieking had subsided, he knew what the rest was. What right did they have, Sam and Castiel, to keep him there? What right did they have to deny him HER?

When the chills began, he curled up on the floor, torn hands rubbing along his arms, smearing blood across his jacket. He was powerless to stop the shivering and his teeth chattered even as he gritted them tightly together.

HER! It pounded through his heart like a freight train.

He had never wanted anyone, never needed anything, like he had to have HER. His craving was like a deafening tone, reminding him of nothing more than when Castiel had first tried to communicate with him. It soon overwhelmed any other sound, even his own wracking sobs and hoarse screams, and all he could hear was want.

What right did they have to keep him from HER, to keep him from casting himself at her feet? Sam had never loved anything like this! Castiel would never know desire like this. His skin stung everywhere from the lack of HER touch, and he promised himself he would try peeling it from his bones if left like this till morning. The great irony was that SHE loved him too! They were protecting him from nothing, from everything that was beautiful and warm, from love and absolution. They were keeping him from being whole. What gave them the right? They said they loved him, but they knew nothing. SHE was love. They claimed to care about him, but it wasn’t true, wasn’t true at all. If they did, they wouldn’t hide him away from the light.

“Ume,” he wailed up at the ceiling. “Ume, I’m trying to come to you. I swear I’m trying.” His tears slipped down his face in streams of misery. “Ume, I feel you!” His Ume wanted him, like no other ever had. It was cruel to keep them apart. He had never thought of Sam or Castiel as cruel creatures before. Clearly they were. He was seeing them for their true sadistic selves now, and he could not believe he had never seen it before. He scratched at his Mark fitfully as he considered the various ways he could kill them for their arrogance.

The chills dissipated over time, the sobs softening into whimpers. He remained on the floor, his mind wild with schemes of escape, but his body too exhausted to implement them. How much time had passed? How far had SHE gotten by now? “Ume, wait for me,” he pleaded breathlessly. “They can’t hold me here forever. I’ll kill them, I’ll get to you, just please wait for me.” He was pressed up against the wall facing HER location. He did not even know which direction that was, or how he knew, but he was certain SHE was that way.

Dean fought hard against sleep, felt as though he were betraying HER by resting, but eventually, he had no choice. He had already broken several fingers trying to rip the door down, and pounding them into the wall. Now something else was happening to him, even worse than the chills. His excruciating desire was depleting him, and something in his mind kept telling him that if he just slept, he would wake up strong enough to go to HER.

It was nearly two hours later, covered in sweat and shivering badly, that he started awake and leapt to his feet.

Gone.

SHE was gone. His heart screamed out in pain. He threw back his head and roared desperately, feeling the absence like a bullet to the chest. But before his echo had even died out, there was a burst of activity in the stone room.

“-hands off me, angel!”

Dean stared. There before him was Castiel, holding the most beautiful goddess ever to touch the-Why was Castiel holding HER? He growled in rage and leapt toward him, but the son of a bitch blinked away before he could tear his arms off.

He whirled around to see Ume standing before him. As he watched her, stunned into silence, her face began to change. Her lovely, delicate features, her darkness, was morphing into something else entirely. She was taller now, more angular, brighter. Her limbs were longer, toned and strong. Freckles crossed her nose and cheeks, and he found himself looking into very familiar green eyes. Her sensual lips curled into a smirk. “Hello, Dean.”

It was such a relief to be with her. He dropped to his knees, his head lolling forward on a weak neck. “Ume,” he moaned.

“Yes, Dean.”

It took most of his remaining strength to lift his head and speak to her. “Why did you change your face? Your body?”

She reached down to place her strong hand on his cheek, eliciting a cry of lust from him. “Because I’m going to kill you, Dean.”

“You are?” he breathed happily.

“Yes. Then I’m going to get myself out of this place. But first, I’m going to enjoy us. Look at me, Dean. Who do you see?”

Dean’s eyes floated all over her body, watched the illusion of clothing fade into nakedness. It was then that he saw them. There above her breast was an anti-possession tattoo, and on her shoulder was a scar that looked years old, in the shape of a handprint. The green gaze stared down at him, enjoying his appreciation of her body. Then he frowned sharply. “Me,” he realized in horror.

“You,” she confirmed. “Were you a woman, you would be this.” She smiled. “I like it. I might keep this form in my portfolio to use again one day.”

He lowered his eyes, his breath shallow and quick. His desire for Ume had not changed with her appearance. If anything, it had increased. A small part of him wondered what that said about him. A larger part of him did not care.

 “Your pheromones are delicious. You’ll be a full Ajisai by morning. Well, you would if I did not plan to kill you. I’ll need to, you know. For your strength. It isn’t that I want to, of course, but I’ll need it to break out of here and have a chance against the angel.”

“Yes,” he answered. “I understand. Whatever you need to take.”

She breathed deeply through her nose. Then she reached down with long fingers and dipped into his hair, caressing him. “Dean, tell me what you like about this form.”

He stared at her even as his lust was pressing painfully against his jeans. “Tell you?”

“Tell me.”

“I’d do anything to have it,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t know why.”

“You do. What do you like about this body? This version of yourself?”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Your eyes! It’s all too beautiful to be me.”

The figure shook her head at him. “Dean, I am you. This is what you would be.”

“Let me have you,” he whined desperately. “Please!” When she nodded, he leapt at her, pulling her bare body against his own, and kissed every available inch of skin. It was amazing the way she was so strong and so feminine at the same time. His hands went straight to her back, kneading her muscles and tight skin. He breathed in her scent, and lifted her into his arms. He released an animal growl when she wrapped her legs around his waist, her small round breasts brushing against the scrape of his stubble as she threw her head backward. The sheer athleticism of the woman was enough to make him mad with want. Her pheromones were intoxicating him.

Dean lost time at some point, much like when he was standing while drinking and then blinked and found himself sitting on the other side of the room without remembering the walk. He was now on the floor, and she was peeling off the last of his clothing. He gripped her arms firmly, and pulled her on top of him. Pleasure and sweat was dripping everywhere. What had seemed so strange before was now incredibly appealing, the idea that he would in a way be mating with himself. And that was how he thought of it-mating. Like he was an animal who had found its match.

“Dean!”

His own name ricocheted like a bullet through his brain. It was most certainly not Ume’s voice.

“Dean, you need to fight this.”

“God, Cas, get out of my head, you son of a bitch!” he screamed aloud.

“You have to stop this. She’s killing you, Dean!”

“I don’t care!” The howl echoed off the stone walls, but Ume did not even flinch at the sound.

“We do. Sam and I, we care! Dean, you need to steal back control. She’s feeding from you.”

“Let her,” he responded, this time quietly as he bucked his hips up into her, and suddenly he was inside her. It was warm, smooth and slick, and his body shuddered beneath her. She was smiling as she writhed atop him, the green eyes swallowing his image with pleasure.

“Dean,” she purred. “Just ignore those voices. It’s the angel. He’s trying to split us apart. He wants to take me away from you.”

The roar was not a word, but a rumbling from deep inside him, and he fought against the words in his head.

But there was something happening-something changing. All of the sudden, Dean had the sickening feeling that he did not actually know where Ume was in the room. He could feel her, feel himself in her, but she was also watching him with a wicked smirk at an angle that did not make sense.

“Ume?”

His stomach was churning terribly as his brain tried to process the disorientation. He was not on his back at all.

“Dean, come back to me. Ignore the angel, my love.”

“No,” he croaked. “No, he’s right. You’re…you’re doing something to me.” The sensation of her sex was fading fast, being replaced by his perception of reality.

She raised an eyebrow, and frowned. “How are you doing that? You shouldn’t care what I’m doing to you.”

Dean tried to shake his head to clear the fog, but found that it was being held on either side with her palms. He blinked hard, realized that he was still on his knees before her, and raised his eyes to stare. “You’re killing me. You’re feeding off me.”

“How are you-“

He did not wait to hear what she would say. He threw his fist into the bare stomach before his eyes, and heard her shriek and fall in front of him. He blinked again, and could finally see the siren as she truly was, with the pale skin and horrible mouth. His mind was finally clear.

“Your blood, Dean. Before her spell is completely gone. Your blood, and bronze. It’s there, Dean. I left it for you.”

“Dean? What are you doing?”

“You creepy bitch.” He reached out without a thought. His mind had recognized the bronze dagger even if he had not taken notice at the time, too busy lunging for Castiel. As promised, it was waiting for him nearby. He flipped the blade to slash at his own forearm, then turned it on her.

“Dean, no!” she screamed. Her voice echoed long after he had pierced her through the throat.

Part of him ached with the separation from her, even knowing what she was. But that faded quickly, and he dropped her body without ceremony to the floor. “It’s done, Cas,” he murmured.

The door opened then, and the angel flew at him, embracing him in a hug. “How do you feel?”

He untangled himself from his friend’s arms, grateful that his clothes had not actually been removed. “Like eight kinds of stupid.”

“Don’t,” Castiel said softly.

He nodded, and let Castiel lead him from the room. “You know what though?”

“What, Dean?”

“I would have made a really, really hot woman.”

Castiel tilted his head, frowned a bit, then nodded. “I suppose you would have,” he acknowledged, then proceeded to call Sam to let him know it was all over.


End file.
